


Introspection

by Alois_D



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alois_D/pseuds/Alois_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*The first time you saw him, you wanted him. There was something about him that made him glow. And no, you weren’t stupid enough to confuse it with the light from the street lamp he was standing under. But maybe you were high. You did take some E that night…*</p><p>Brian finally talks about his feelings...to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Season One

The first time you saw him, you wanted him. There was something about him that made him glow. And no, you weren’t stupid enough to confuse it with the light from the street lamp he was standing under. But maybe you were high. You did take some E that night…

 

Yeah, it had to be the E.

   

* * *

  

The next day was an ordinary day. Really.

 

You were your usual, normal self and were trying hard not to think about that twink. But admit it, you failed. When you’d parted, for an instant you’d seen the boy look at you like he had stars in his piercing, blue eyes; and what did you do? You crushed his little silly boy’s illusions, and left him standing there after having outed him to the entire school.

 

Well done, Kinney.

 

But seriously? Did the boy truly expect that you would suddenly turn into Prince Charming and ride off with him into the sunset in your fuckmobile?

 

It was just a fuck. A great, really fantastic fuck. The teenager had been so responsive, and you had been…hungry. That’s it. His touch, his smell, his looks, everything about the boy had been appealing, alluring, and intoxicating. It wasn’t your fault that you had great taste in men, only surpassed by your need for sex.

 

So, it was just a fuck. A fantastic fuck. End of story.

   

* * *

 

Okay, maybe it was more than a fuck. Maybe it turned into a multiple fuck – or a hobby, a bad habit or something. And maybe you weren’t in a hurry to get rid of him for good. Maybe you liked being stalked. So what? It boosted your ego, and from your perspective there were nothing wrong with that. Moreover, you could teach the boy a thing or two about sex in the process. You were a sex god after all; everybody knew it. Thus, all in all, it was a perfect deal. No strings attached. Just pleasure, plenty of it.

 

Sometimes, you really loved being Brian Kinney.

 

* * *

  

The only problem was that before you knew it the boy was sleeping on your couch, and you had to tell a trick to fuck off. You’d never dismissed a trick you’d brought to your place; much less one that you didn’t even fuck first. What the fuck was wrong with you? It wasn’t like you usually allowed any man to sleep on your couch, especially when the man in question was as eager to ravish your body as this boy. But escaping from a well-intentioned, but clueless mother? That was the best reason Justin could come up with to make you agree to take him in. Now, you just had to stop yourself from fucking him.

 

It was going to be a long night. Why couldn’t you fuck him again? Oh yeah, you wanted to prove a point. He wasn’t your friend.

 

Right. Since when had Brian Kinney ever turned down a trick for some nobody?

 

You were so fucked. But the boy didn’t need to know it.

 

* * *

  

You really did drive Justin home with the intention of returning him to his parents. After all, they certainly were a better influence than yourself; most parents were, anyway.

 

Too bad these weren’t. You’d seen it before. Justin’s mother wasn’t too bad, but his dad was a first-class asshole, and a soon-to-be, card-carrying homophobe. You couldn’t let Justin live in that house.

 

Fucking fathers.

 

* * *

  

Well, the boy ran off to New York. It wasn’t your problem. He could go and start a career as a professional boy toy for all you cared. The only problem was that you had been robbed due to his carelessness. Period.

 

Well… that, and the fact that the boy had stolen your money in order to run away. Seriously? How old was he? Twelve? And of course, Debbie was on your back, telling you she would have your balls if you didn’t bring the boy back. And Lindsay vowed to have your balls, too. What would you do without your balls? It was your duty to save them. If you had to bring back Justin in the process, you would gladly do it, thank you very much.

 

* * *

  

You don’t know exactly what role Justin had played in your reconciliation with Michael. But you hadn’t been fooled. You knew the comic book had been on the kitchen counter before Justin had arrived to entertain you. So, the boy must have done or said something to have gotten your best friend back. Why? He certainly didn’t have to. He didn’t even like Michael. So, what had been the point?

 

“I’m onto you,” he’d said. So maybe he truly cared about you.

 

And maybe you could admit, if only to yourself, that it wasn’t so bad.

 

* * *

 

 

This guy – Cass, or whatever - hated Justin. And your boy didn’t back down. What was wrong with teenagers these days, anyway? Exposing Cole and revealing that hand job in front of his friends was a bad move. A courageous one, sure; but in the long run, it could come back to kick Justin’s ass. It was a good thing he was finishing high school in a couple of months.

 

You couldn’t control yourself when Chris had threatened Justin. You had to protect him, and didn’t think twice before confronting the guy. You just acted. You would have done it for all your friends. It was nothing, really.

 

So, why had your heart beat so fast when you’d seen the hatred in this jerk’s eyes?

   

* * *

 

You were fucking pissed. What was Lindsay thinking? Most of all, you were scared about losing your son. What if Lindsay didn’t see reason before it was too late? What if Gus forgot about you and replaced you with this French guy?

 

Justin had always believed you would be a good father, ever since the first day you’d met, the day Gus had been born. Why? What did he see in you to make him believe in you? And why did it feel good when he didn’t give up on you? Even when you tried to push him away, it didn’t work. “I’m killing you with kindness,” he had said.

 

You’d felt a warm feeling in your chest when you had heard those words.

 

* * *

 

Justin was welcome to leave the Pitts, and head for Dartmouth. You didn’t care. And even if you did, what mattered was that the boy might do it for the wrong reasons. Since when did following your parents’ bullshit dreams ever be a good thing? And since when was Justin responsible for the consequences of his mother’s decision to get a divorce? You had to make him see that.

 

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Justin might decide to leave.

 

Fuck.

  

* * *

  

Your father died.

 

And there was nothing to say, nothing to feel. Except it wasn’t true, because it hurt, inevitably.

 

You would’ve never said it to a living soul, but you were happy that you weren’t alone.

  

* * *

  

You knew he wasn’t happy with your non-relationship. But what did he expect? For you to embrace some fucking label that meant nothing? What would it change in the end?

 

You were so fucking pissed off. All these guys drooling over him, while he was shaking his ass for everybody to see. But it wasn’t enough. He had to show you he could be…What? The King of Babylon? Your nemesis?

 

Whatever.

 

And then Justin was fucking the guy he had stolen from you in the backroom. You couldn’t stop yourself, you had to see it, to see him. But when you had approached and your eyes had found him, you had felt it like a stab to your heart.

 

The tightening.

 

What was worse was that it was there, for everybody to see. For a second, you couldn’t hide it anymore, couldn’t keep it in the recesses of your mind. These feelings, the ones you had been trying so hard to keep under control; there were overflowing and flooding your heart, literally. You could feel the pain on your face, even in your gaze.

 

Thank God for the darkness of the backroom.

 

Justin could hurt you. Badly. He had this power over you. Nobody’d had this kind of power since you were a teenager living in a loveless home.

 

There was only one thing to do now. You had to run away as fast as possible.

 

* * *

  

But in the end, you couldn’t run away. It wasn’t even because of the job that fell through. Not entirely, anyway. It was just that…

 

How can you run away from Sunshine? Even when you know you’re not what’s best for him, that he is too young, or that you’re not young enough? Whatever. You knew you should stay away from him. You should have stopped listening a long time ago to people who told you it would be okay to be with him.

 

But the truth is, you wanted him, and even if you hid it well, there was nothing you could do to stop yourself from wanting him more with each passing day. So, when he asked you about his prom, about you being there with him, you already knew you’d go, even if the mere idea was ludicrous and that you had to fight him in the process.

 

However, when he saw you that night, he’d tried to hide his surprise, but most of all, he’d tried to hide how happy he really was that you’d come; and at that moment, when he looked at you with so much love in his eyes, you admitted to yourself that you didn’t regret a single moment with him. Truthfully, you knew that being there tonight was a validation of his place in your life and in your heart. And by the look in his eyes, he knew it, too. But you couldn’t even think about leaving, because the truth was, you were as happy to be there with him as he was. That’s when you remembered him, standing under that street lamp in his teenage clothes, looking excited and scared, all at the same time. How could you have known you would come here, tonight, several months later?

 

Brian Kinney being a date at a prom at 30 fucking years-old, no less… and you weren’t even trying to make a bad joke about it.

 

Since that first day, it had always been a wonder to you that you could make this beautiful boy – correction, this beautiful man - genuinely happy. Seriously, why have you been so lucky? You never were before; so, why now? It was like an angel had been sent your way. And at that moment, when you had led him to the dance floor, you had felt it.

 

The Love.

 

And you knew. For the first time in your life, you’ve fallen in love, and you decide to embrace it completely.

 

Just for one night.

 

 


	2. The bashing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's thoughts during the beginning of season 2, and more specifically during episode 1 and 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this chapter to Kim and Fatima, for their friendship and kindness.
> 
> And of course, to Annie Eliza. I'm honored to have her as a beta on this. She is not just an amazing author, but a true friend as well. Thank you so much.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The numbness was your world, your freedom. Booze, sex, drugs, you’d use any incentive just to win against this incessant battle in your brain. The viscous mass of cells were trying to beat you, but you wouldn’t let it have the upper hand. You didn’t care if you acted like a madman or sounded like a fucking nutcase to yourself, as long as you stopped hearing that noise.

_Christ…_

If only numbness was a disease. You’d let it take you and you wouldn’t even need the pills.

 

* * *

 

You couldn’t be with him.

You couldn’t stay away from him.

The nurse was used to seeing you every night, just standing here behind the door, watching him as he slept. You could sense that something was wrong but you weren’t strong enough. You never had been.

It was all your fault.

 

* * *

 

Everyone had an opinion on what had happened to him. And of course, they felt like they had every right to comment on your behavior. Sometimes you wondered if people were really that blind and dumb about the human condition. Between Mikey and Lindsay who had tried to bullshit you about survivor’s guilt and Emmett and Ted who thought you’d just replace Justin like a fucking broken player, you really wanted to gag.

How could they think for even one second that they could understand what you were going through when you didn’t understand it yourself?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. And long live the numbness.

Amen.

* * *

 

You were not sure that there were enough bad words in the English language. Scratch that. Of course there weren’t, that’s why your mind was so blank except for the silent inner cursing. But you suspected another reason…that your brain had just short-circuited due to a sudden and uncontrollable overload of emotions. You always hated emotions anyway, for good reasons.

Justin was here in the corner of Woody’s, looking as pale as a ghost. And you couldn’t move, couldn’t help him again.

If only Michael had been there in the parking garage, too. Maybe he could have saved him.

Unlike you.

 

* * *

 

He was in your loft. You tried to feed that thought to your brain as if to soothe it, hoping that it would finally shut up and leave you in peace. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work. So you tried again.

He was in your loft. Alive. There. Take that, brain.

He even talked… about how he could be dead.

_Jesus Christ…_

 

* * *

 

You learned at a young age that life wasn’t a bed of red roses petals - or more accurately from your perspective, a bed of horny, well-hung, smoking hot men. But even if you did, you were still amazed to witness how life could still fuck you over. You could almost hear the sneer in your ears, as if just having to process the news wasn’t enough. Life had to punch you in the face properly.

He didn’t remember. The attempt you had made to reach out to him had vanished from his mind, probably forever. The dance you shared with him, the joy you’ve both felt, the simple moment of bliss you let yourself believe in for a short moment in your life. It was all gone.

You had to repeat to yourself that he was alive; ultimately, if just his memories were gone then, you were lucky, because that meant that he was still breathing. Alive. The word had echoed into your mind for days after the doctor came to update you on Justin’s condition.

Alive. Fuck if you didn’t sense an overwhelming feeling of relief that washed over you every time you heard that word.

Still, you would have done anything to give him your memories. To give them up. To forget. Anything to stop these feelings you didn’t dare put a name on.

You were not sure you would be able to forgive yourself, ever. Of course, from the way you acted around him, he sensed it immediately when your body took over, and words started to escape from your lips. And now, he was the one comforting you, saying to you that it wasn’t your fault. He even made sure that you looked at him when he pronounced those words.

_It wasn’t your fault._

If only your mind could believe in those words.

He must have thought about a hundred scenarios when you didn’t show up at the hospital, even maybe that you didn’t give a shit… but how could you tell him?

Maybe you didn’t have to, because he was taking you into his arms and fuck, it felt so good to feel him again. You never wanted to let him go.

Even your brain agreed on that thought.

 

* * *

 

When Jennifer asked you to stop seeing her son, you weren’t exactly surprised. You’ve seen the way she has looked at you that night when you’d gave him a ride home. But you still had to try, still had to stop the shock of realizing that she did agree with your mind. It made it all even more real.

You were the one who almost killed him, by showing up that night. The fact that you weren’t the one holding the bat was irrelevant.

You showed up. He almost got killed. Period.

It was better this way.

 

* * *

 

He stalked you. Showed up at your loft one day. You even had to close the door in his face, to make a point, for him to understand that he had to move on without you. And you without him.

Your fingers were itching to open the door again.

You tried to use sex to move on. And failed.

 

* * *

 

When Jennifer showed up, unannounced, you were surprised. And pissed. What now? If she was here to start that shit about Justin having to let go, she could just go fuck herself. It wasn’t your role to control her son’s moves.

Yet, she didn’t back down. Not when she discovered you stark naked just after a bad fuck, not when you couldn’t find a way to hide your anger over the situation, not even when you aimed to shock her by asking her if what she really wanted was for you to fuck her son. Most mothers would have run away. But Jennifer wasn’t most mothers. She loved her son more than her own life. She would have done anything.

You were her last hope. That was saying something, considering she didn’t want you around her son in the first place.

Either way, you couldn’t refuse her. And Justin needed you. Just hearing Jennifer talking about what he was going through made your blood run cold.

Maybe you had a chance for redemption. Now, Saint Joan would be proud that you thought about redemption. Of course, the fact that you had to fuck an eighteen year old boy in the process might not be to her liking.

Justin was happy when you went to get him. You were relieved…and scared shitless. What if you weren’t enough? Jennifer had told you about his fits of rage, about the nightmares. How could you help him if Jennifer couldn’t?

_You’re the one he trusts._

Well, you were pretty sure he was wrong to trust you. But you would be long dead before you let him down again.

 

* * *

 

When you touched him, he let you at first. But for the first time since you’ve met him, he just let you. He didn’t respond to your touch, didn’t let the desire take him. It was only a moment before he stopped you from going further.

Justin had been the only man you ever had sex with on a regular basis. You didn’t know how to deal with his pain and to find the words to soothe him. So, you just stayed by his side, letting the silence speak for yourself, barely touching him.

You had to do something. You called Alex, and for the first and hopefully the last time ever, you asked for a professional point of view. You hated shrinks but you were ready to try anything if it meant putting a true smile back on his face. You needed it as much as he did.

Daphne helped you to recreate the prom. You danced in the loft, listened to that corny song. But it was nothing like that night. The innocence was gone. Watching him with his eyes closed, trying so hard to comprehend what that moment you both shared had meant, while being so hesitant whereas he had appeared like the world belonged to him that night, was causing your heart to ache. Badly.

_You kissed me? In front of everybody?_

_You should have been there._

Fuck.

* * *

 

When it was obvious that it couldn’t work, you went to the parking lot with him. Where all had begun.

It proved to be too much. You lost it. You could hear your own voice cracking. You felt helpless. Helpless to help him. Helpless to stop your own feelings from suffocating you, and gripping your heart.

Nevertheless, no matter what it would take, you wouldn’t give up. You would try again tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. And the day after. Hell, if you had to try day after day for the rest of your life, you would.

* * *

 

 

Gus was a year old. Another thing you wouldn’t have thought possible not so long ago. You wouldn’t be elected father of the year any time soon; and yet, you were proud to have a son like Gus and lucky that Lindsay had had enough faith in you not to fuck it up completely.

She had organized a gathering for his birthday and you showed up with Justin by your side. You didn’t let him out of your reach during all the time you stayed there, as much for his sake as your own. You weren’t ready for that.

It happened in slow motion. One moment, you were making a bad joke about Gus becoming a baseball player and the next he was completely losing it right in front of you. You felt his fear and took him into your arms without thinking.

He scared you to death.

Eventually, he calmed down enough for you to let him go and you quickly made some excuse to leave. When you arrived at the loft, he was silent, drained. It freaked you out big time.

He told you that he was tired, that he wanted to go to bed, even if it was barely seven PM. You let him rest on his own, turning out all the lights, taking your time as if to force yourself to keep your emotions under control, even if it was useless. Every cell in your body was on fire.

At last, you headed towards the bedroom and had to pause when you saw him sitting alone on the bed. You asked him if he was feeling better, trying to buy some time because you were fucking nervous and didn’t know what to do to stop the increasing knot in your stomach.

You eventually joined him, sharing with him how scared you’d been to see him losing it earlier and he told you about remembering you calling him that night, to warn him. It didn’t seem important to you.

It didn’t save him.

But Justin visibly didn’t agree. Moreover, when he took out the scarf from your neck and realized what it was - what it meant - he just stared at you.

You had to look away.

That’s when you realized that he had the power to heal your mind. He let the scarf falling on the floor, telling you with a few words that you could both heal. Together.

_I want you inside me._

He trusted you. After everything that’d happened…He wanted for you to touch him.

_Just, take it easy._

_Like the first time._

So, you did. And for the first time in your life, you made love that night.

* * *

 

Your mind stopped screaming. If you were a remotely romantic man, you would have swore that it began to sing.

 

 

 


End file.
